


the sun won't set on us

by chatspyjamas



Series: the sun won't set on us 'verse [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Connor McDavid is a Good Friend but also a Bitch who Lives for Drama, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Love Triangles to See Here Folks, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12997350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chatspyjamas/pseuds/chatspyjamas
Summary: Mitch’s brain kind of stalls for a minute, blinking dumbly as Zach’s eyes widen, and everyone starts trying to talk all at once.“No way, you have someone in your hotel room?” Zach whispers furiously.“Wait, was that Connor McDavid?” Auston’s brow furrows, eyes darting towards the hotel room behind Mitch.“You’re having a sleepover without me?” Willy whines, far too loud for the quiet hallway past curfew, and, really, it’s not like Mitch has any other option than to drag them all into the hotel room before curious ears can catch wind of the words Connor McDavid being uttered in a hotel in Edmonton.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His skin feels hot, even though logically it’s impossible that they can see what he did. He prays the room doesn’t smell too much of sex.
> 
> Or maybe they can see what he did, Mitch despairs, because they’re all treated to the view of Connor McDavid lounging on his stomach half under the covers, lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up, still slightly flushed, and Mitch’s eyes snag a bit too long on the length of his spine, lit by the dim hotel room lights.
> 
> “Don’t tell Babs.” Mitch pleads, as they stare.

Mitch is waiting by the door, sitting on the empty bed, so it's only a few seconds after there's a knock at the door that he has it open -- only a few seconds before Mitch is reeling Connor in, a hand gripped in his shirt to keep him steady as they stumble, knocking against the wall. 

"Took you long enough," Mitch says breathlessly as he pulls back, and Connor scrunches his nose and opens his mouth.

"Hey Connor, how've you been? I've missed you for more than just your dick."

A bright laugh startles out of Mitch, and he steps back to get a closer look at his face.

"God, Edmonton's changed you." he jokes to see the face Connor pulls.

"Like you don't know this is your fault. Sexting me on the bus, really? I’ve been thinking about it for hours." he punctuates his words with a roll of his hips, and Connor’s eyes turn dark. He runs his hands over Mitch’s lower back, drawing him closer and teasing at the waistband of his jeans. And that’s… that’s something, Mitch thinks, as a wave of something slightly melancholy washes over him.

He sighs into the touch and leans closer, suddenly feeling unsteady in his arms, knees wobbly. Sometimes it’s too easy to fall into the idea that Mitch is just a hook-up for Connor, friendship questionable, the way it was when he did this with Auston, and Mitch really can’t deal with that right now -- doesn’t need another reminder of how stupid he was to have misread things for so long.

"Can we just -- can we just make out for a little while, first?" Mitch asks, and Connor's eyes soften slightly as he nods, searching in a way that makes Mitch flush. Mitch's gaze drops down.

They've never explicitly discussed it, but they've been doing this long enough to have a routine, and Connor knows what to do when Mitch has been feeling lonely and lovesick, has never made fun of Mitch for wanting some semblance of romantic sex to ease the ache.

Mitch is, admittedly, very loose with his heart. He falls fast and hard, and Connor’s been his friend long enough to see him get crushed multiple times over, and is always a steady presence to lean on as he recovers.

This is perhaps not his smartest coping mechanism.

Sometimes Mitch thinks it would be easier without this distraction, without the addition of confused fluttering he feels when Connor treats him -- well, like a lover --, but mostly he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle being alone. Mostly, he knows it makes him feel happy and warm and wanted. Connor’s so good for doing this for him.

Mitch sits down on the bed and leans back against the headboard, and Connor follows, cradling Mitch’s jaw and letting his body weight push Mitch into the bed, taking up space between Mitch’s thighs like there’s no place he’d rather be. Connor brackets Mitch in with his arms, and Mitch runs his hand over Connor’s shoulders to draw him closer, letting himself get lost in the feeling. Before long it grows heated, and Mitch gasps as Connor grazes his teeth over his throat, gripping his hair to hold him there as he sucks light marks into Mitch's neck, the way he knows Mitch likes.

(Mitch likes to be marked up, to mark his partners up, to have concrete proof in pretty bursts of purple and red over skin. Auston didn’t mark him up, when they’d hooked up, so it would almost be hard to remember it happened, considering how normal they act with each other now. Oh, and if it wasn’t for the way it always hits Mitch like a slap to the face when he remembers -- he’d had it all, and now he doesn’t. He’d really had himself fooled, thinking it could be real.)

"Okay," His breath hitches slightly, and Connor pulls back to let Mitch pull both of their shirts off, shudders when Mitch thumbs over his chest, running a hand down his abs-- not saying anything, just looking.

Mitch has always been the most tactile out of their group and Connor knows it, so he doesn't resist when Mitch arches up for another kiss, running his hands up Connor's spine to feel him shiver. Mitch maybe has a bit of an obsession with Connor’s back, but feeling the muscles tense and ripple, hot under his hands, always makes him feel dizzy with arousal.

"You should fuck me." Mitch adds, squirming slightly as Connor exhales in that measured way Mitch recognizes as him hiding surprise. He lays back down and doesn't stifle his smile when Connor presses open mouthed kisses to his knuckles while he wiggles out of his pants.

Connor doesn’t really hook up-- being called The Next Great One tends to draw a lot of people looking to use him-- and it definitely shows. He has some habits that are hopelessly ingrained in him, his penchant for delicate kisses a major one.

He pulls lube and a condom out of his jeans, and--

"Oh, wait wait, check my pockets, I have some," Mitch says with a grin, scrambling up and wiggling his hips in a parody of seductiveness. Connor rolls his eyes, so of course Mitch has to continue, humming that song with the heavy bass that’s been stuck in his head for days. It’s the sort of song you’d have sex to, Mitch thinks, but there’s something lost in his rendition.

“Really setting the mood, Marns.”

Mitch scoffs. “You love it,” He insists, and Connor gives Mitch a _look_ but complies, generously groping Mitch's ass before pulling out the strip of condoms.

Mitch squirms out of his jeans, hiding a smile as he waits for Connor to notice what’s special about them, and he's not disappointed in the full-body laugh that’s startled out of Connor, Mitch bites his lip to avoid laughing along to Connor's dumb giggles. God, he's missed this. Missed Connor.

"Mint chocolate chip flavor, really?" Connor gasps, and Mitch is gleeful -- "just wait, wait," -- and unwraps it, rolling it down Connor's dick, and then they're both practically shrieking with laughter at the bright green condom. Mitch stops to catch his breath but loses it at the way Connor’s dick is bouncing with his laughter, at the look on Connor's _face_ , and the eye contact they make starts another round of laughter 'til Mitch is aching with it and they're both lying on their backs, flushed red and happy.

"Okay," he gasps, barely holding off another round at the quiver in his voice and how breathless he sounds, shoulders still shaking.

Connor snickers, brushing at the tear trails under Mitch's eyes, and Mitch softens, feeling warm and gooey as he reaches up to mess with Connor's hair, curling closer. He feels almost sleepy now, completely unlike his nervous anxiety from before Connor came by. It’s really a shame that they barely see each other-- this is something he could really use on a regular basis. They lie in comfortable silence for a few moments, just cuddling.

"Still wanna?" Connor offers, his voice fond and still full of mirth, even though it's purely for Mitch's benefit-- he's not even fully hard anymore, and his dick just looks green and sad.

Mitch tells him so, and he squawks in false indignance as Mitch laughs loudly, getting up to throw the condom away before sliding back onto the bed between Connor’s legs to kiss him silent, urgency gone.

 --

Mitch is lying back, breathing heavily as he recovers from the messiest blowjob he’s ever received, (" _Jesus_ , Connor, where did you learn to do _that_ "), when there's a knock at the door. They both jump slightly, Connor lifting his forehead from where it’s still resting on Mitch’s stomach.

"Thought you were rooming alone?" Connor says, or pants, really, and Mitch nods, still slightly blown away from that orgasm. Honestly, _goddamn_.

"Maybe they'll go away?" he offers, not wanting to interrupt the afterglow, but he can hear Willy's voice through the door, "Stop laughing at daquan and come to dinner with us!", and Mitch has to stop him from waking everyone in the hotel by exposing his Instagram activity.

"Just a second!" He calls, trashing the condom (“waste of money, wasn’t even chocolate-y”) before pulling on boxers and a shirt and grumbling under his breath as Connor snickers, wiggling half under the covers and grabbing his phone.

"Shut up before you wake the entire hotel!" Mitch hisses, throwing open the door and wedging his body between the door and doorframe, aiming for a nonchalant lean and missing by a mile if Auston's amused snort is any indication.

"We're gonna get popcorn and watch _Baby Driver_ in Marty's room, come with us." Auston greets, and Mitch hears Connor rustle in the bed. It’s probably wishful thinking to hope he doesn’t recognize the voice. Connor has some _opinions_ , about what Mitch and Matts did, about how Matts acted, and it's probably for the best that they not meet at the moment.

“I’m kind of _busy,_ here--” Mitch protests, made obsolete when Connor calls out “No he’s not!” from inside the room.

Mitch’s brain kind of stalls for a minute, blinking dumbly as Zach’s eyes widen, and everyone starts trying to talk all at once.

“No _way,_ you have someone in your hotel room?” Zach whispers furiously.

“Wait, was that Connor McDavid?” Auston’s brow furrows, eyes darting towards the hotel room behind Mitch.

“You’re having a sleepover without me?” Willy whines, _far_ too loud for the quiet hallway past curfew, and, really, it’s not like Mitch has any other option than to drag them all into the hotel room before curious ears can catch wind of the words _Connor McDavid_ being uttered in a hotel in Edmonton.

“Please, just _once,_ think before you speak.” Mitch whispered furiously, even though there’s no more reason to be quiet. His skin feels hot, even though logically it’s impossible that they can see what he did. He prays the room doesn’t reek too much of sex.

Maybe they _can_ see what he did, Mitch despairs, because they’re all treated to the view of Connor McDavid lounging on his stomach half under the covers, lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up, still slightly flushed, and Mitch’s eyes snag a bit too long on the small of his back, lit by the dim hotel room lights.

“Don’t tell Babs.” Mitch pleads, as they stare.

“Hi.” Connor says, smiling, like it isn’t the lamest greeting ever, especially after everyone’s shock from seeing him. Mitch doesn’t know what he’s trying to pull, here, because his mussed hair and the shirtless expanse of his back feel like a flashing neon sign of _We Just Had Sex! Just Had Mitch Marner’s Dick In My Mouth! Probably Still Naked Right Now, Dick Out Under The Sheets!_

Mitch is maybe freaking out a little bit. He’s dead if Babs finds out about this, and historically his teammates have not been the most subtle of people. Also, this is undeniably gay-- something Mitch feels he’s done a pretty good job of keeping on the down-low.

Beautiful, oblivious Willy doesn’t hesitate at the sight before launching himself onto the other bed, pulling out his phone.

“I’ll text Marty to tell him we’re watching it here instead. I can’t _believe_ you snuck McDavid in here, Babs is gonna kill you if he finds out.”

“Hey, man.” Connor holds out a fist for Auston to bump, and the sheet slips. Mitch makes an aborted noise, something like a _Hhhhaugh_ , but it turns out Connor's wearing boxers and Auston knocks their fists together with only a slight pause, eyes catching on a red spot on Connor’s shoulder that Mitch remembers _biting_ into the muscle. God. 

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give Mitch a second glance before settling himself onto the desk chair, picking up the TV remote and fiddling with it, presumably to turn on the movie. He’s frowning slightly, and Mitch knows there’s no way he hasn’t connected the dots, not when he himself commented on how sex is such an obvious look on Mitch, how it makes his blush extend down over his chest. Ah yes, that was the night before he broke Mitch’s heart-- Mitch’s lungs are in his throat at the memory, and he swallows thickly.

Auston doesn’t get to be jealous now, even if Connor’s trying his best to draw a reaction from him.

Zach catches his eye, blushing slightly, and Mitch follows his gaze to the floor, where his jeans and -- oh, jesus. Mitch barely restrains himself from flinging himself onto the floor, instead choosing to subtly cross the room, wordlessly kicking the jeans and ridiculously long string of Christmas condoms under the bed. He looks back at Zach, who seems to be biting back awkward laughter. Mitch honestly feels like he’s flushing out of his skin, but somehow they manage to have a relatively normal conversation, mostly thanks to Willy and Zach’s continuous argument about the relative attractiveness of Ansel Elgort-- a topic Connor seems to have no trouble jumping in on, his voice significantly rougher than usual.

Mitch sends a quick text to Marty. _pls make them leave!!!_. Marty responds with a _got u skittles_ and _omw_ , and Mitch groans under his breath. Marty is going to tease him mercilessly. Connor looks up, playful glint in his eyes.

That bastard. He’s really enjoying the dramatic irony of Mitch’s life.

Marty's eyebrows raise toward his hairline when he arrives, gaze zeroing in on the rumpled bed and shirtless Connor before looking at Mitch questioningly. Mitch sighs.

"They invited themselves, I -- _ow_ ," he complains as Marty pokes the hickey blossoming on his neck. Marty lets out a long suffering exhale.

“Somehow I find it hard to believe how incredibly stupid you can be.”

“It’s not my fault,” Mitch whines in a last ditch attempt at avoiding his disappointed stare. “No one would’ve found out-- _stop that_ ,” he bats Marty’s hands away from where he’s digging his thumb into a darker mark forming on his clavicle. Marty whistles lowly.

“ _Please help me make them leave_.”

Marty hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think so, kiddo. Consider yourself cockblocked.” he says under his breath to Mitch, before placing the snacks on the desk and stretching out on the bed opposite Connor.

“Nice delts, McJesus.” Marty greets, and Connor grins. They share a knowing look, and Mitch watches as Willy coughs through a rather obvious chortle before carefully schooling his expression back to wide-eyed obliviousness.

So that’s it, then. They all know and are just enjoying the dumpster fire that is Mitch’s attempt at a booty call.

Mitch forces his shoulders to relax and gives up on damage control, grabbing the skittles and falling on top of Connor in a dramatic whump, which makes Connor laugh and shove at him. After some light punches and rearranging, Mitch manages to fit nicely under the crook of Connor’s arm, skin warm against his cheek, closing his eyes to avoid Auston’s stare. It’s the shock that really rubs him the wrong way, like he thought Mitch didn’t do friends-with-benefits. Like he thought the only reason Mitch wouldn’t want to be fuckbuddies with him was because it'd be casual.

 _Well surprise surprise_ , he thinks bitterly, _not everyone wants to hook up with Auston Matthews._

“I hate you all. Just start the movie.” Mitch grumbles, opening his eyes. The worst part is that Auston looks confused, like he’s reevaluating everything that happened between them, and Mitch feels like an open book-- he’s going to realize Mitch thought it meant something, was so fucking _naïve and stupid_. They’re going to talk about it later, Mitch knows, and the thought twists uncomfortably in his stomach as he settles in to watch the promised “fucking incredible car chases, Mitchy”.

The skittles are bland on his tongue, and he takes a few seconds to focus on the feeling of rejection and really making it ache until Connor snaps him out of it by flicking yellow skittles at his nose to make him laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus content:  
> -mitch leaves all the yellow skittles in the bag every time he eats skittles, for auston, As Per Their Routine, because auston has questionable taste and actually enjoys them  
> -[this is 100% connor and mitch](https://grapefruitfruits.tumblr.com/post/168397419195)  
> \- novelty sex items are an ongoing joke between connor, mitch, and dylan. they all agree that the glitter lube incident was a mistake.  
> \- with regards to the condom:
> 
> Connor pulls off with a wet noise, and Mitch lets out a strangled moan at the loss of stimulation. 
> 
> “It’s not even that good. There’s no chocolate, it’s all mint--”
> 
> “Connor.” Connor stops complaining to swallow his dick back down, only to come up again seconds later.
> 
> “Seriously, two out of five,” 
> 
> Mitch twists his fingers in his hair desperately, “God, please shut up,” 
> 
> “You’re not the one who has to taste this --!” Connor protests, but complies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “-never rooming next to you again, Mitchy, what the hell _was_ last night?!” Naz is saying, and Mitch burns the roof of his mouth before narrowly managing to avoid coughing his lungs up.
> 
> ((Mitch’s not sure how he can get out of this one without outting that he just really enjoys getting casually dicked down by The Next Great One, but he figures he needs to say something soon.))

The next morning consists of waking up at 4am to sneak Connor out of the hotel and crashing back into bed until breakfast. He slumps into a seat next to Marty, hair sticking up every which way, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes with a groan. 

Marty, blissfully quiet, nudges him a cup of coffee and Mitch accepts gratefully. He’s just taken a sip before Naz slides into the seat across from him, already halfway through a sentence before Mitch realizes he’s speaking to him.

“-never rooming next to you again, Mitchy, what the hell _was_ last night?!” He’s saying, and Mitch burns the roof of his mouth before narrowly avoiding coughing his lungs up.

“Ohoho, this I have to hear. What did you hear from cave of debauchery before we showed up?” Marty grins wildly, and Mitch tries not to swallow his tongue at the way heads swivel around to look, _j_ _esus christ_. He’s not sure what Naz heard-- Mitch isn’t great at keeping quiet in anything he does -- and now Naz is gearing up for an audience, so he holds his breath and braces for impact.

“I have no idea what you’d do to get a girl to laugh that hard during sex. If you needed help in that department you should’ve just asked.” Naz delivers, and a couple of the guys laugh, heckling. Marty guffaws, and Mitch shoves an elbow into his ribs that Marty catches and holds with an unimpressed look.

 “Trouble performing in bed? At least you’re better at hockey, surely, that must be what keeps ‘em coming back.” Marty adds with a wink, and Mitch resists the urge to cover his face, which is probably flaming red -- not subtle, Marty. Naz cackles, though, thinking nothing of the oddly specific comment, and adds “They were laughing so _hard_ ,” to the delight of Brownie and Leo, who are now listening in.

“Shut up, you don’t even know why!” Mitch protests, flushing slightly. He doesn’t need his reputation smeared any more in front of the guys, they already think he’s a child they need to watch over.

“Considering what it sounded like _after_ ,” Bozie cuts in and pauses to grin, and if Mitch’s face wasn’t burning already, he would’ve gotten there pretty fast at the way the guys _oooh_ and holler, “I’d say he doesn’t need any help at all making an impression. That’s true love, right there.” Bozie says with a grin, chirp softened by his tone. His family has really made him a soft romantic -- not even Marty is this bad with Sydney, Mitch thinks, before the words catch up with him.

“Wait, _what_?” He squawks, “who said anything about _love_?”

“Your hookup in Edmonton? C’mon Mitchy, it’s not hard to connect the dots. You hardly hook up unless you’re here, and it’s been what, nearly two years? If you haven’t had a talk about feelings yet, don’t put it off.” he says sagely.

“I….” Mitch starts, but doesn’t quite know what to say. The table goes silent, waiting for a response.

Mitch’s not sure how he can get out of this one without outting that he just really enjoys getting casually dicked down by The Next Great One, but he figures he needs to say something soon. Mo is eyeing him like he’s going to pull him aside for a advice session, and down at the other end of the table, Willy’s making increasingly ridiculous faces at Zach and Auston that lead Mitch to believe that he’s honestly considering that Mitch might be in love with Connor McDavid.

Which -- that’s just ridiculous.

The Earth is round, the sky is blue, and Mitch Marner is so far gone on Auston Matthews that Dylan and Connor have a separate group chat where they discuss intervention strategies whenever Mitch needs some serious talking down. He’s so far gone that Marty stopped teasing him about it for weeks after The Rejection, and even now treads lightly around the subject of Mitch’s crush. He doesn’t seem to have any trouble milking this for all that it’s worth <em>now</em>, though, judging by the way Marty’s hiding a shiteating grin behind a sip of coffee.

It kind of feels like everyone’s over it but himself.

He realizes they’re still waiting for him to speak, and gives a weak, “Oh. Yeah.”, sounding a bit miserable, before having to clear his throat-- his voice always sounds like that when he’s been thinking about the Auston Situation, which, he realizes, is not the best way to go about convincing people that he’s not emotionally compromised.

Mitch accidentally makes eye contact with Auston at the other end of the table and blanches. He actually looks _worried_ , looks ready to speak up to tell the guys to leave him alone, and isn’t that a thought, Auston defending Mitch’s personal life as if he isn’t feeling completely blindsided by this false revelation. They tell each other _everything_ , are always helping each other deal with shit, and this would be huge to leave out-- the Connor thing wasn’t a big thing, not really, not until The Rejection, so they’d never discussed it. Mitch feels like a huge asshole.

Bozie gives him a pitying look. Mitch doesn’t want to think about what his face looks like right now. 

“I’m, um, seeing them again after the game. To _talk,_ ” Mitch adds carefully, as Marty mouths _Round 2_ lecherously to Naz with a wink. It seems to pass inspection, though, and Bozie ruffles his hair fondly as the table goes back to eating. Conversation resumes, but not before Mitch gets separate ‘We’re talking about this later’ looks from Mo, Willy, _and_ Brownie. His team is full of nosy bastards. Auston carefully avoids meeting his eyes again, and Mitch fights down a wave of guilt and pushes his plate away, no longer hungry.

Mitch stops Auston on his way back to the room, hand on his shoulder.

“Aus, that thing at breakfast, Bozie’s got the wrong idea, I swear.” Mitch says seriously, looking for understanding, a laugh, anything, but Auston just nods wordlessly, doesn't say anything.

“We’ll talk? Once we’re back in Toronto?” Mitch maybe sounds a little desperate, floundering, but he needs Auston to understand.

“Mitch.” Auston starts seriously, calm and certain, and Mitch stops fidgeting. “Don’t worry. I trust you.” He knocks his shoulder into Mitch, and the wave of relief hits him harder than the friendly hit.

Auston always manages to understand the root of Mitch’s problem, of his worry, and it’s telling how easily Mitch accepts it, tension leaving his body with a relieved sigh.

“Well. I’m coming over after we get home. Be ready.” Mitch warns, and Auston finally, finally cracks a smile, so Mitch continues, getting dramatic. “I don’t give a damn how late it’ll be. I’ll pick your lock.”

“My neighbors will call the police.” Auston responds, eyes glittering, and Mitch doesn’t stare (he _doesn’t)._

“Better let me in, then, or you’ll have to bail me out.”

“I always will, buddy.” Auston says, and it comes out serious and fond. Mitch’s stomach twists. Auston’s loyal intensity always strikes him by surprise, and he’s less emotionally equipped to deal with it than usual-- less equipped to deal with anything Auston related, right now, and the lovesickness hits him hard.

“Yeah.” Mitch trails off, finding himself staring at Auston’s eyelashes. Thankfully, it matches Auston’s tone, betraying none of his inner turmoil. Auston pats him on the back and continues to his room, and Mitch manages to shake off the overwhelming affection before anyone can find him standing dumbly in the middle of the hallway. 

\--

Mitch manages to make it to the game by clinging to Zach like a lifeline. Dear, sweet, precious Zach. He clearly knows what Mitch is avoiding (what with Mo hovering like a worried mama bird), but plays along, cheerfully responding to Mitch’s erratic conversation starters whenever he feels eyes on him and taking the aisle seat on the bus to the rink.

Mitch spams Connor with a few hundred emojis to the general tune of ‘we need to talk after the game’, and Connor texts back a single thumbs up emoji, which could mean many things. Mitch isn’t particularly coherent when he’s punching out blocks of emoji, but hopefully Connor gets it.

Because tradition is everything, Mitch waits for Auston to get off the bus and is rewarded with a blinding smile, even though they do it literally every game. Mitch reaches up to pop Auston’s collar, who swats at him. He ducks away, smiling, and Auston rolls his eyes, earbuds in, but he’s smiling as they make their way to the visitor’s locker room.

Mitch carefully waits a few seconds to see if Auston’s going to say anything before unpausing his music, but he doesn’t, just hums before getting back into the Auston Matthews Gametime Zone. He must be more psyched out about this game than usual, which Mitch can definitely understand, given the McDavid versus Matthews narrative the media has been milking. 

Mitch really wishes they’d give that a rest.

\--

Minus a few chirps in the locker room for the marks Connor left on his neck, Mitch makes it out unscalthed and is now warming up on the ice next to Auston. For all that he was weird earlier, he’s acting fine now while they’re both silently warming up for the game.

That’s one thing he likes about Auston -- they don’t always need to talk, they just _understand_ each other. They can ride to the rink in the morning in sleepy silence and crank the windows down and holler dumb song lyrics to each other a few hours later. Mitch can invite himself over to play _Call of Duty_ when Auston gets too deep into his mind and the responsibility of carrying a franchise, and Auston is observant enough to know when Mitch needs someone to hold after a loss and when to leave him alone. They just _click_ , and it’s one of the reasons Mitch was so blindsided by how Auston saw them -- he thought, he thought it might be love, _could be_ love, but he was alone in thinking so.

God, Mitch has been such a downer recently. It was way easier before, when he had been hopelessly pining and could stay in denial. He must’ve been still for a bit too long, because Auston bumps his shoulder with a glove, waiting til he has Mitch’s attention before leaning in to be heard over the music.

“Get’cha head in the game.” He nearly shouts, and Mitch wheezes out a surprised laugh at the reminder of the time Auston found out he had never seen High School Musical and immediately insisted they binge all three movies in a single afternoon. Auston mimes throwing a basketball with one hand before skating away to shoot a few pucks, and the light feeling stays with Mitch all through warmups. 

\--

It’s a satisfying win, with several incredible goals on both sides. (None for Mitch, of course, which, really, is just fantastic.) Auston himself had a two point game, and the atmosphere of the locker room is buzzing with cheerful energy, even as Mitch changes as quickly as possible and slips away to go find Connor.

Connor is waiting for him in an empty equipment room, looking a bit ragged from doing media. He scored tonight, of course he did, but the weight of carrying his team’s season on his shoulders is dragging his features into a tired frown -- if Mitch can help it, it won’t last long. 

Connor laughs for what feels like hours when Mitch tells him the situation.

“I’m _serious_ , they think you’re some girl or whatever that I’m in love with. And Willy, _who should know better_ , is convinced I’m stuck in a loveless friends-with-benefits relationship because I’m too far gone and think it’s all I’ll ever get from you.” Mitch insists, corners of his mouth quirking up at the thought.

“I should’ve known the sex was too good to be true,” Connor laments, before their phones ring simultaneously.

“That _asshole_.” Mitch laughs. Ever since Dylan learned of their habit of defiling equipment rooms after their games, he’s made it his mission to interrupt them as often as he can after their games.

Connor quirks a suggestive eyebrow at Mitch, who nods. He keeps a straight face as he mouths _one-two-three_ , and they both hit answer and explode into well-versed noise simultaneously.

“Oh, yeah, just like that, Mmh, _harder--!_ ” Connor wails, not unlike a pornstar, and-- 

“You feel so good, so tight--” Mitch gasps out, letting out a long moan.

“Oh, _for the love of--_ ! Stop. You guys, really? I don’t need to hear this.” Dylan complains, hanging up, but it’s overshadowed by the loud " _Holy shit, no, what the fuck_ ,” that filters through Mitch’s speaker.

Mitch stares wide eyed at the screen telling him that it was _Mo_ that just heard that, that it was Mo that just uttered expletives into the phone, who is now rushing through sentences like he’s being chased.

“Didn’tmeantointerrupt, justwantedtosaythebuswasleavingbye” Mo hangs up almost immediately. It’s almost like Mitch can _hear_ the mortified flush on his face-- though he _can_ hear the uproar in the background before it cuts out, notably Naz’s stunned “ _Mo_.”

They both blink at the phone’s screen, cheerfully telling them the call ended with an impressively short duration of 0:08.

“ _Aaaaaaaaagh._ ” Mitch says after a beat, horrified. Connor is quickly turning an impressive shade of crimson. It’s nice to know he still has a sense of shame, especially after last night, but his shoulders are shaking? And -- oh.

He’s laughing, and Mitch can’t avoid the helpless giggles that bubble up in his chest at the sight. This whole situation with the team is so fucking ridiculous, like, there’s no way it could get any worse at this point, and this misunderstanding really seals the deal. 

“He sounded so _scandalized_ ,” Is all Mitch can really say, and Connor just drags him into his chest to laugh into his hairline.

Mitch holds him tight and hums. “Oh. Can I get a ride? The team’ll be at...” he squints at his phone over Connor’s shoulder, scrolling through the spamming string of texts he’s received --

 

 

 

Auston  
  
the hotel has a hot tub(Smirking Face )  
(100)(100)(100)  
**Today** 11:03 PM  
where are u  
  
**Today** 11:15 PM  
?  
  
**Today** 11:23 PM  
dude  
youre gonna miss the bus  
  
**Today** 11:27 PM  
bus is leaving

 

 

 

 

Willy  
  
**Today** 11:28 PM  
omg Mo just said fuck!!!

 

 

 

 

Zach  
  
**Today** 11:28 PM  
mitch whatd you say to mo??

 

 

 

 

Marty  
  
**Today** 11:29 PM  
no idea what u did to mo to get him so riled up but were at the bar down the street from the hotel  
  
be ready theyre taking bets for what u did and mo cant hold out forever

 

Connor twists around to look at Mitch’s phone. “Why, are they-- Oh. Hah.” he grins. “Yeah sure, I could use a drink after that game.”

“I wasn’t inviting _you_ , you just wanna cause a spectacle. Again.” Mitch sniffs.

“You really want to face that alone?” Connor wheedles, and Mitch caves.

“...Fine. Just don’t be a dick about the Auston thing.” Mitch sighs, already resigned to it. Connor just makes a noncommittal noise and grabs his keys.

“Let’s go, babe. Can’t be having the love of my life miss out on victory drinks.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry about that,” Connor starts, all damn Canadian manners and easily drawing the attention of the entire table, “we’re usually much more careful? You all have just caught us at a bad time -- uh, times. Sorry about last night.” he adds, glancing at Marty, who winks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you, wheezy.

Mitch is greeted inside the bar by the sight of an awkward Mo lingering at a table by the door, clearly waiting for him. Seems like there’s no putting it off, then. Time to face the music.

“...I’ll go get us drinks.” Connor says, taking the coward’s way out and pulling the brim of his hat lower as he makes his way to the bar. Mitch grimaces slightly. He doesn’t blame him. Squaring his shoulders, he heads over to Mo and tries to ignore the embarrassment churning in his stomach.

“Mo, I’m sorry, it was a joke, we thought you were Dylan--” Mitch manages, not quite able to keep eye contact, but Mo just shakes his head, flushed.

“Not my business, just, please, don’t do... that.” Mo grimaces slightly, still bright red. Mitch cringes. “You guys need to be more careful.” Mo adds, and there’s something about the way that he says ‘you guys’ that reminds Mitch that Mo’s been angling to have a talk with him all day.

“Mitch….” Mo’s eyes are tracing Connor’s path to the bar with concern, like he’s connecting all the dots, and Mitch winces. There’s having a talk about being in love, and then there’s having a talk about being in love with one of your best friends. Neither of them are quite right, and yet having a talk about hooking up on the regular with Connor McDavid is something that would, somehow, manage to be worse. It’s probably for the best that Mo doesn’t know the truth.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing--” He starts, but is cut off by a shout.

“Mitch!” Marty calls from across the bar, and Mitch mentally makes a note to thank Marty for saving him later.

“I should go see what he wants,” Mitch says quickly, already backing away, and Mo makes a frustrated noise, “ _Mitch--_ ”, but Mitch pretends he can’t hear, already dutifully making his way over to the table where Marty’s seated around a table with the rest of the guys.

He already knows this is going to end up biting him in the ass, ignoring Mo in favor of Marty, who looks to be up to something, but it’s really a matter of preference at this point -- have Connor come back to Mo’s mother-henning, or have him interact with Marty, who’s probably on a mission to thoroughly embarrass Mitch until the end of time. Which, okay. At least Marty knows about Auston and isn’t going to say anything that would make him doubt Mitch. (Mitch meets Auston’s gaze as he approaches the table with a shy smile, and, yeah, he really doesn’t want to ruin whatever they have left.)

“The lover returns!” Marty croons, and, well, maybe Mitch misread Marty’s stance on things.

“They couldn’t get the specifics out of Mo, but they know he overheard something… private.” Zach leans over to mutter to him, and Mitch’s ears burn. He’s getting knowing glances from several people around the table, and there’s no _good_ way to explain but Mitch figures he should at least try.

“It was, ah, meant for someone else? Kind of like a joke?” He hedges, not even bothering to deny it, and Naz whoops.

“Damn Mitchy, that’s kinky as fuck. Who knew?”

Connor catches the end of his sentence and knowingly swaps the drinks he got -- passes his shots to Mitch, taking the beer for himself -- and, yeah, Mitch needs that right now. He downs one, willing the alcohol to work fast so he can hopefully stop feeling the anxious mixture of shame and excitement in his stomach. He’s mostly just worried about their reactions to the Connor hook-up thing, because while he hasn’t been trying to hide it, he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming to the team. Mitch doubts there’s anything to really worry about.

(Mitch ignores the part of his brain that’s worried about Auston and his reaction to the Love Thing, which _isn’t even a real thing --_ thanks for nothing _,_ Bozie. He’ll explain soon enough and they’ll be fine again. Well. Back to the fine they were after sleeping together. Besides, Auston seems fine, even if he thinks Mitch was having phone sex, and is currently engaged in a loud, bantering conversation with Willy.)

“Sorry about that,” Connor starts, all damn Canadian manners and easily drawing the attention of the entire table, “we’re usually much more careful? You all have just caught us at a bad time -- uh, times. Sorry about last night.” he adds, glancing at Marty, who winks.

And, of course, Connor wanted to add some flair to his entrance. Mitch should’ve never underestimated his capacity for dramatics. Eyes flick from Connor to him, and Mitch steels himself and downs another shot.

Naz blinks owlishly, everything catching up to him, and then --

“You’re fucking _Connor McDavid_?!”

Marty cackles, like he was just waiting for everything to click, and conversation at the table explodes. Mitch takes a leaf from Connor’s book and sits back to watch the fireworks.

There’s a healthy mixture of stunned disbelief and smug _I-knew-before-you_ declarations. Unsurprisingly, the group from his hotel room are in the middle, though less crude about it than Mitch expected. Willy is holding it over Brownie’s head, teasing him with extra ‘information’ about the ‘affair’, and Auston seems unperturbed, interjecting each time Willy gets too far into speculation. His eyes snag, kind of getting caught on Auston’s hands fiddling with a beer label. Connor nudges Mitch, hiding his concern pretty well, and Mitch checks back in to whatever conversation Marty and Naz have sprung on Connor.

“And here I was, worrying that you were being used for your money. You’ve got a sugar daddy, Marns!”

Connor laughs at that, _hard_ , and the sight is enough to make Mitch loosen up, fake an exaggerated pout.

“Not a very good one, apparently. He doesn’t buy me _shit_.”

“Hey!” Connor protests, “What about all this?” He gestures to the shots, and Mitch spitefully takes another before swiping a drink of Connor’s beer to wash away the taste.

“Buy me diamonds and _then_ we’ll talk about your title.”

Connor slings an arm around Mitch’s shoulder and grins.

“A whole lot of things are starting to make sense.” Naz says slowly. “I thought your whole draft-year media shit seemed a bit different from my draft.”

The conversation turns more towards the draft, thankfully, and Mitch allows himself to relax into the booth and shoot the shit for awhile with Marty and Naz. Connor keeps up remarkably well, considering how little he knows the Leafs, and frankly, it’s pretty damn nice. It’s hard to escape the meet-the-boyfriend dynamic, considering the circumstances, but Connor’s taking it in stride, albeit with a few drinks. Mitch doesn’t find it too surprising, considering how genuinely charming the contrast is between Connor’s NHL superstar label and dorky mannerisms -- media training has been really restricting on his personality.

It hasn’t taken away everything, though.

Connor’s getting touchy, a bad habit he has when he’s buzzed, and even though the table’s mostly moved on to different topics, it’s drawing a few looks, especially from the older guys. Mitch leans over to bring it to Connor’s attention, and Connor tucks him closer under his arm, so really, he kind of sees their point.

“Shameless,” Mitch whispers into his ear, teasing, and Connor barely gives him a glance in response. Except for how he runs a hand up Mitch’s thigh under the table and keeps it there, a warm weight that has Mitch controlling his breathing and holding perfectly still. Well. Shifting quite a bit, really.

All concepts of boundaries have apparently escaped Connor, and at this point Mitch is feeling loose enough not to worry too much about it. All in all, it’s a pretty terrific feeling. Naz is looking like he can’t hold his question in anymore, looking at the two of them, and sure enough he blurts it out.

“So that was you laughing last night, right? What did Mitchy do?”

Mitch is prepared to threaten death, but Connor shrugs coyly. “He just knows how to keep things interesting, I guess.” He makes the mistake of glancing at Mitch.

“Right.” Naz says skeptically.

Mitch tries to hide a catlike grin behind a sip of beer and carefully schools his features, elbowing him.

“You know, I never would’ve guessed you two. If anyone, I thought it’d be you and Strome.” Brownie says to Connor, offhand, and oh. Mitch’s stomach still hasn’t quite managed to learn to stop turning whenever Dylan is mentioned, whenever he’s reminded of the thing the three of them had. Talking about it is something he’s not great at, much less when he’s straddling the line between buzzed and truly drunk, but luckily he has Connor to pick up the slack.

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but his mind apparently comes up blank, because he just gapes for a second. “...I mean,” he hedges, carefully avoiding implicating Mitch, and Brownie’s mouth drops open.

“No shit,” He says appraisingly, but this misunderstanding is something Connor can deal with, has been dealing with.

Connor shrugs. “It didn’t work out.” It’s kind of remarkable, really, how he’s able to twist people’s perceptions of things in such a way that they work out in his favor. Mitch might be staring, kind of, because Connor’s grip on his leg has gotten tighter and it’s kind of hard to think of anything other than the looseness of his limbs, the heat on his skin and Connor’s ability to use the situation to his advantage.

It’s really not fair, how Connor can be so good at so many things, hockey aside, and it’s pretty striking how easily he has a lot of the older guys at ease with the way he’s playing the story of ‘their relationship’. There’s no way that Mitch’s competence kink isn’t showing, right now -- he’s seen it himself, the way he tends to get a little starry-eyed.

Connor smirks, like he knows what Mitch is thinking, and takes another drink. Mitch’s eyes track the motion and watch him swallow. Without pause, three different legs kick him in the shin under the table.

“ _Ugh_. That’s gotta be fineable, right? Fuck-me eyes in a public bar?”

“I was barely looking!” Mitch protests, flushing bright red when Connor raises his eyebrows at him. “Shut up.” he grumbles. Connor really does _not_ need an ego stroking right now.

“The Oilers would count it,” Connor supplies helpfully, and wow, Mitch is absolutely going to take back the $40 from his wallet for this.

“ _Speaking of your team_ ,” Willy announces, butting into their conversation, and his tone is probing and mischievous. Mitch glances over and Auston shrugs helplessly, looking admittedly curious. “Do they know you’re here?”

Mitch hopes Connor realizes that Willy’s digging for dirt, drama, _anything_ \-- he doubt Connor will rise to the bait, but. There actually is a bigger story that Mitch doesn’t care for anyone, especially not Auston, to know. Rolling with the punches after rejection is one thing-- rebounds are undoubtedly less impressive.

“I mean,” Connor’s forehead creases slightly in confusion, “Marns is here.” he states, like it’s obvious, like _where else would I be?_ Mitch smiles, feeling warm, and when Connor glances over to check on him they exchange a fond look. It’s sappy, no doubt.

“ _That_. Does your team know about _that_?” Willy’s not going to let it go, apparently.

Connor frowns, and Mitch knows it’s fake, knows that it’s the first page in the McDavid acting book, right after bland, scripted media scrums. “Not sure what you mean. But Marns and I hang out after games a lot, sometimes with the team.” He grins. “Leon says he’s not allowed to talk to him when he’s drunk anymore.”

Classic deflection. Marty takes the bait, interrupting Willy. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“He propositioned him for a thr--”

“Aaand that’s enough of that. Save some mystery for the two of us.” Mitch interrupts, though it’s a bit too late to stop the table from understanding, judging by the incredulous looks he’s getting-- _look_ , it seemed like a good idea at the time, and Mitch actually thinks it would’ve worked, been rather _convincing_ , if he hadn’t been quite so drunk.

“You’ll have to regale us with more tales of your torrid affair another time.” Marty chimes in. He’s definitely not letting that one go.

“Yeah, they’ll have our necks if we’re not back at the hotel soon. C’mon Mitchy, you’re riding with me.” Naz says, prodding at Mitch’s side.

“Actually, I was gonna--” Mitch starts, not entirely willing to get into an Uber for a line of questioning without Connor by his side, but Naz clears his throat.

“Aaand, nope. You’ve had enough fun tonight. Hold hands with your boyfriend some other time.”

“We were not _holding hands_!”

“So your hands were both just luckily hidden under the table the whole time. Right.” Naz says slowly.

Hm. Mitch didn’t think people had noticed that.

Connor snickers. “I guess I’ll be heading out as well. Don’t forget to call.” he adds. He’s having way too much fun with this.

“Yeah. Give my best to your team.” Mitch prods, and Connor makes a face.

“We’ll kick your ass next time for sure.” Connor promises, and hugs him. Someone _aw-_ s, and Mitch pulls back, self conscious. Goodbyes always _suck_ , awkward and stilted, but Connor just smiles at him. “See ya, Marns.”

Naz ends up jerking at Mitch’s sleeve for him to go, which is embarrassing, but he’s thankfully silent during the car ride and walks him to his room with minimal fuss.

“So I’ll finally be able to get some sleep tonight then, Mitchy?”

Mitch shoves lightly at him, can’t avoid an embarrassed smile. “ _Shut up_.”

He’s drunk enough that it’s easy to fall right asleep, still happy and warm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s… weird. There’s something rubbing him the wrong way with it, the way it feels like he doesn’t have anything left in his life that’s not up for outside speculation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [work skins on for maximum effect!]

Mitch practically shoves his way into Auston’s apartment once they’re back home, and Auston just looks amused, managing a smirk even through his exhaustion. (The image is only partially ruined by the way he yawns widely a second later -- Mitch can’t find it in himself to feel anything but endeared.)

“Please. Come in, make yourself at home.” He offers, playful, like the start of all their banter. Mitch means to reply, he really does, but--

“Me and Connor. It’s not… we’re not, like, dating. In a relationship.” Mitch blurts, and the light atmosphere is completely ruined.

“Okay.” Auston sobers up pretty quickly, leaving room for Mitch to continue.

“I’m not pining after him, we’re just -- we’re not like that.” Mitch bursts out.

“Yeah.” Auston repeats his tone, and Mitch furrows his eyebrows. That’s it? Mitch has been withholding pretty significant BFF-insider-info, and that’s the only reaction? (Mitch pushes down the part of him that’s disappointed with how at ease Auston looks.) “Dude. Don’t you want to grill me or something?”

That’s where Auston falters. “I mean,” he coughs, turning red. “Conflict of interest, you know? Can’t really give you relationship advice after we--”

“Right. Yeah, I forgot.” Mitch interrupts, doesn’t want to relive that rejection.

“Yeah.” Auston echoes, looking relieved. “Thank you for telling me.” He says, probably because he figures he should say something.

And, yeah -- it’s awkward. This is exactly why Mitch had wanted to avoid talking about it. They play a few rounds of Call of Duty, but Mitch is distracted and they’re both tired. It’s probably a lot easier to ignore the ghost of rejection when he’s not sitting next to you on the coach dragging your co-op score down.

It’s late, and Auston’s fussing with the blanket hung over the back of the couch. That’s usually Mitch’s cue to bitch about road conditions until Auston caves and lets him stay over, and Auston’s clearly expecting it, but. Mitch can’t, right now.

He doesn’t stay much longer.

\--

It’s pretty much old news on the team within days, with the way everyone practically found out together, but Mitch knows the exact minute that someone lets it slip. It’s over a short stretch of break before their next game, and he wakes from an afternoon nap to find his phone blowing up with texts from people he hasn’t heard from for months.

Frankly, he should’ve expected it. The Oilers are one thing, given the weird mixture of respect and fondness they hold for Connor and thus Mitch -- they’ve been discrete, withholding whatever opinions or disapproval from Connor, at the very least. (Mitch has been on the receiving end of a truly terrifying number of shovel talks, even before this season). It’s remarkable how much the Oilers manage to care about Connor while still managing to be mindful of his boundaries, and maybe that’s where the problem lies for Mitch.

It’s partially Mitch’s fault, surely, for easily fitting into the role of rookie-everyone-should-care-for, but in this case his easy openness really backfired. The Leafs, it seems, are not as discrete, because if they were, Mitch wouldn’t be sifting through a veritable sea of messages.

 

**1:** Duuuuuude. Say it ain’t so! **2:** you and mcdavid? haha holy shit **3:** an otter? how could u mitchell **4:** i stg i called this back in 2015 **5:** how much is he paying u? **6:** you’re breaking my heart :’(

Even the old Team Canada group chat’s back in action, though it’s mostly just Nate and Tyson mocking him back and forth. Mitch waits for a better opportunity to respond and isn’t disappointed.

 

7 People  
  
Nate  
Ah, to be young and in lust  
youre literally 22 shut the fuck up  
go hop back on crosbys dick  
Tyson  
ooooooh  
Nate  
sorry, remind me who it was who bought you beer the last time you were in the states?  
oh, thats right. me  
Tyson  
show your brother some respect  
G  
stop talking about crosbys dick where i can see it

Mitch figures he should alert Connor, sends him a screenshot of his 51 unread texts. Connor replies almost immediately.

 

Connor  
  
**Today** 2:11 PM  
Look's like the secret's out  
No wonder Leon's pissed off  
**Mitch:** srry it mustve been someone on the leafs  
  
**Mitch:** i shouldve been more careful at the hotel sorry  
  
Connor is typing...

Mitch feels unrealistically bad about it, given that Connor seemed completely at ease with all the attention, but if the Oilers are pissed? That’s something Connor’s going to have to deal with every day. It’s probably hard enough to earn respect as a 20-year-old captain, Mitch hates to think what it’d be like to have to defend this to the team as their leader. Connor’s typing something, but Mitch gets distracted by the torrent of texts still flooding his phone, including one from Claude. Yikes.

 

G  
  
**Today** 2:14 PM  
Since when?? I thought mcdavid was hooking up  
**Mitch:** he is  
  
**Mitch:** were not exclusive its nbd

It’s… weird. There’s something rubbing him the wrong way with it, the way it feels like he doesn’t have anything left in his life that’s not up for outside speculation, not up for criticism or unwarranted advice.

 

G  
  
**Today** 2:14 PM  
Since when?? I thought mcdavid was hooking up  
**Mitch:** he is  
  
**Mitch:** were not exclusive its nbd  
:/ kid  
G is typing...

Mitch clenches his jaw and carefully sets his phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’.

\--

It all comes to a head during the Flames game. It’s a tight race -- neither the Leafs nor the Flames are looking too good, and it’s frustrating for both sides involved. Mitch misses what should’ve been an easy goal and play is stopped.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mitch growls, and someone laughs behind him.

“You kiss McDavid with that mouth? _Filthy_ ,” Gaudreau chirps, stick glancing off Mitch’s side as he skates past, and Mitch ends up frozen in place for a few seconds.

It’s scary how badly it shakes him, completely throwing him off his game, and it’s a miracle that they win in the shootout even with Mitch completely whiffing on his attempt. (It’s not a miracle -- it’s Auston Matthews and William Nylander, but that’s pretty close, anyways).

The rising sense of nauseous uncertainty is back, even after he’s taken his shower and is changing in the locker room.

He’s not really sure what he should do, feels all kinds of rotten and nervous and insecure. There’s people knowing and then there’s _people_ knowing, and the reality of it all could very easily be much worse than extra texts.

“Rushing home, eh Mitchy? Got plans?” Brownie asks, cheerful, and it’s not even _bad_ , not even referencing Connor, but something in Mitch breaks.

“Could you _stop mentioning Connor_? God, it’s not even any of your fucking business.” He snaps, and people quiet down pretty quickly. Mitch accidentally makes eye contact with Zach across the room. His eyes are wide, and Mitch forces his gaze away, back to Brownie.

“He was just making conversation, Mitch, no need to jump him,” Mo chastises, like he’s his fucking father or something, like he has any sway over what Mitch does _at all_.

“Try making conversation that’s not about my life, then. Anyone care to explain why it feels like half the league knows about me and Connor?”

 _Connor and I_ , Mitch’s brain supplies helpfully, complete with Mo-voice, and it’s so frustrating, the mental image of being belittled further, that Mitch’s nails dig into his palms. The locker room is quiet, no one willing to respond, so Mitch finishes stuffing his things into his bag and storms out as quietly as possible, still seething.

\--

Mitch puts himself on self imposed phone exile, but it doesn’t do any good because he just ends up aimlessly pacing back and forth in his kitchen. He’s fixating on random little things, like the stain on the counter that he never managed to remove and the sorry state of the inside of his refrigerator.

The one thing he really wants is a blue Gatorade, but he’s all out. Judging by the way his hands shook on the steering wheel on his way home, he shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car, much less at this hour. It’s instinct, at this point, to grab his phone and bother someone until they agree to surrender their own, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he sees all the missed calls. So much for distractions.

He listens to various stilted apologies, many no doubt forced out of them by Mo. They sound guilty, which they _should be_ , but all it’s doing is reminding Mitch that they should be apologizing to Connor, too. He can’t keep listening. The texts are much easier to stomach.

 

Mo  
  
**Yesterday** 11:47 PM  
I had a feeling this would happen. I’ve talked to the team and they’re sorry for letting it slip. If you need someone to talk to, call me.

Mitch rubs at his eyes. Of course he’d make it seem like it was Mitch’s fault for not listening to him. His heart is in the right place, Mitch knows, but he’s being pretty much the opposite of comforting.

 

Marty  
  
**Yesterday** 11:52 PM  
Jax is free for some cuddles. Come over?

Zach  
  
**Yesterday** 11:53 PM  
if you need someone to talk to, im here. i know relationships can be tricky even without all the attention

He doesn’t need _relationship counseling_ , for the love of God.

 

Auston  
  
**Today** 12:04 AM  
come over?  
we can talk or have that Cars marathon idc

Mitch blinks, feeling weary. He feels like he’ll go insane if he has to explain himself to anyone else. Emotional baggage aside, Auston’s his best bet, and Mitch isn’t stupid enough to give in to the instinct to isolate himself further.

 

Auston  
  
**Today** 12:04 AM  
come over?  
we can talk or have that Cars marathon idc  
**Today** 12:48 AM  
do you have any glacier freeze  
  
**Read** 12:49 AM yea  
omw

\--

It’s twenty minutes into the first movie (complete with Auston’s carefully nonchalant commentary) for Mitch to crack.

“So.” Mitch starts, clearing his throat, and Auston takes a transparently short time to find the remote and reduce the volume slightly, all but jumping at the opportunity before settling back down, listening carefully.

“Gaudreau said some stuff, about Connor. During the game tonight.” Mitch says, picking carefully at the plastic label on his Gatorade.

“What the fuck. He can get fined for that-- I’ll get Chucky to knock some sense into him--” Auston sounds fierce, and Mitch looks up, startled.

“Not, not anything really horrible.” Mitch clarifies. “I just. Everyone knows. Everyone has something to say.” he finishes quietly, and Auston makes an understanding noise.

“The pressure, from everyone.” Auston states, and Mitch nods, relieved. No doubt Auston’s familiar with constant attention from all sides.

They get about ten minutes further in the movie, absently watching animated cars before Mitch notices Auston glancing over, biting his lip. Mitch tilts his head questioningly.

“Does Connor know that it--”

“ _Can we not_ ,” Mitch starts in a rush, and Auston stops. “Can we not talk about Connor.” He’s unable to make himself sound less miserable.

It’s already too much, frankly, having Auston showing his protective side after Mitch’s shitty night, and Mitch is way too emotionally exhausted to be able to keep up a convincing front. There’s no easy way to seem not heartbroken and on the rebound.

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Auston sounds confused, and falls silent for a few seconds.

\--

Things are mostly normal, after that, now that Mitch has gotten it off his chest, and he’s feeling a whole lot better by the time Auston puts the sequel on. It’s gleefully ridiculous. Mitch can’t wait to tear it to pieces.

Mitch’s phone buzzes from the coffee table, and Mitch kicks at Auston’s foot. “Turn off my phone.”

Auston complies, picking up his phone. “Ah. It’s Connor,” He says, hesitantly showing Mitch the screen, and Mitch waves him off. “Voicemail.”

He’s probably calling about the game, to help make Mitch feel better about the goal he gave up and the horrible shootout attempt-- Connor’s smart like that, knows if he doesn’t have anyone to distract him he’ll go insane. Luckily, he doesn’t need it this time-- he’ll just call him back tomorrow, when he can chirp him for still watching Leafs games.

The buzzing stops, showing his screen full of messages again. Mitch makes a face.

Auston’s looking at him carefully, curiously. “You good?”

“Yeah. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. It’s kind of a mess.” He says, flapping a hand to convey the overwhelming messiness of the situation, and Auston makes a sympathetic noise and pats the space next to him in open invitation. (Mitch has never been able to resist that, not even at his worst.)

Mitch lets himself be pulled into Auston’s chest, and they stay that way, wordless. Mitch falls asleep halfway through Cars 2, and when he wakes up it’s nearly dawn, Auston stirring under him.

“Y’good?” He slurs, voice heavy with sleep, and Auston settles back down.

“Yeah. Just needed to set an alarm. Sorry for waking you.”

“G’back to sleep.” Mitch yawns, burrowing into Auston’s side and grabbing his hand.

“‘Night.” Auston hums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t even get to see Lightning Mcqueen fuckin’ die.” Mitch whispers the next morning, still sleep hoarse, and Auston laughs.
> 
> “He doesn’t _die_.”
> 
> “Oh, yeah? So you made it through the movie, then? All the way?” Mitch taunts -- he’s never going to let Auston forget that he fell asleep when they saw _Transformers_ in theaters.
> 
> Auston scowls and drags the blanket over Mitch’s face. “That was _one time_. Shut up.”  
>  \--  
> Note: for the purposes of this story, the Mitch's concern is not being outted to the league/general public & ignores the persistant league wide homophobia. the angst is purely from a lack of privacy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s-- okay, maybe he’s purposely acting a little dense, given what Connor’s telling him, but. Sometimes it feels like it’s all they have left, after giving so much of their lives to other people. Sex is, at the very least, something holding them together.

Mitch makes up with the team relatively quickly-- it’s pretty clear that none of them meant any harm, and staying angry won’t really do anything. It’s more that he’s angry with himself, frustrated with the way things have turned out.

It was funny at the beginning, exciting, almost, but Mitch can feel it taking a toll on him, on his mental state. It’s serving as a constant reminder that he’s not _actually_ in a loving relationship right now, dismissive of any of his _actual_ problems.

Mitch really isn’t feeling it, but he’s out with the team the night before their game against Pittsburgh. Judging by the looks of things, he really should’ve stayed home. Logically speaking, it makes sense that any hangups Mitch has about moving on wouldn’t apply to Auston himself, but seeing it with his own two eyes is much more emotionally exhausting than just hearing about it.

(The girl’s pretty, and she seems nice, based on the way Auston’s laughing along with her. Christ. He really needs something better to do than watch Auston Matthews pick up.)

Willy and Brownie have their heads together, whispering furiously, and they look up guiltily when Mitch sits down. The seat’s not at the best angle for ignoring Auston, which is regrettable. He has his hand on her thigh, now-- and, yeah, Mitch is staring again.

“Hey.” Zach greets awkwardly, and Mitch tries in vain to focus on him.

Willy clears his throat. “Mitch, have you heard from Connor recently?”

“Yeah, we-- just this morning.” Mitch says, distracted. It’s a little surprising that he’s mentioning him, considering how everyone else had backed way off ever since his outburst.

“Mitch,” Willy sounds grim, and Mitch looks at him. “People are saying that he... picked up this girl, last night-- I just figured you should know, if you hadn’t heard about it.”

And that’s not surprising, really. They’re open, and it’s not really… well, _anything_ , other than friendship and sex (and there’s dwindling time for both, with the way their schedules are). That Connor got caught doing it-- it’s sloppy. Sloppy enough for everyone to notice, apparently.

“I’m not his keeper.” Mitch bites out, trying not to twist around and actively watch Auston. It’s pretty much a lost cause, because he feels hyper aware of where he is, all the time, and it’s usually a bonus on the ice but tonight it’s awful. “He can sleep with whoever he wants.” It comes out wrong, fiercer than he’d intended, and it’s his own fault because he _can’t look away from Auston_ , can't help feeling like shit.

“Mitch,” Willy says sadly, pitying, and frustrated tears burn in Mitch’s eyes. It’s so fucking hard to act like he’s over Auston all the time, and he doesn’t have anyone left on his team that he can talk to about this-- doesn’t have anyone left who knows about Auston except Connor, and it’s all spiraling out of control way too fast.

“I think I’m gonna-- yeah,” Mitch says, blinking fast and gesturing vaguely to the table with the older guys.

“Wait--” Zach says, but Mitch is already sliding out of the booth, regrouping.

It’s clear that if he leaves now, they’ll think it’s because of Connor, and Mitch has had more than enough of that ploy. He’s also had more than enough of storming away in anger, doesn’t like how dramatic it has to be, not when the main issue is Mitch putting himself in terrible situations that he can’t follow through with. He really needs to sit this one through, take a few deep breaths and power through it.

Messing around with Marty works for a little while, but he makes the mistake of looking at Auston and it’s not _enough_.

Mitch can’t stop seeing parallels between Auston courting this girl and Auston forming their friendship, Auston putting on the moves to pick up and Auston putting on the moves for _him_ , and he feels nauseous. His resolve cracks.

He can’t watch this, can’t take the litany of _that was you_ and _you just blindly let it happen_ running through his mind and he stands abruptly, scrubbing a hand through his hair roughly to feel the sting. He’s angry, but more than that, he’s frustrated with himself, and that’s the kind of anger that doesn’t get resolved in a public bar.

“I just remembered I have to skype my mom,” He lies, distantly impressed by the way it manages to sound steady and believable.

“You need a ride?” Someone offers-- Mo, it sounds like, but Mitch is staring down at his phone and willing his eyes to stop burning and his chest to feel less tight.

“Ah, no. I’ve got an Uber. Thanks,” He manages around the lump in his throat, and accepts a half-hug from Marty.

Zach stands. “I think I’ll leave, too--”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Mitch smiles, and he knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Enjoy yourself. Live it up before the Pens come to town.”

\--

Mitch kicks around his empty apartment, gets his emotions in check with partial success, and calls Connor.

“Hey, Marns,” Connor greets when Mitch calls, sounding loose and happy, and something in Mitch relaxes at the sound. He was planning on seeking some advice or comfort, but maybe pushing it down won’t be too bad.

“Having a nice night?” He can’t help but ask, probing a bit.

“Yeah, definitely. The guys came over for dinner, we’re just messing around. What’s up?”

 _Right._ So then it’s definitely not a good time for moral support. Mitch squashes down the part of him that feels lost and disappointed, turns his attention to less pressing matters.

“Willy seems to think my virtue needs some defending after hearing some rumors about your whereabouts last night. Rampant infidelity and all that.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t think of how it’d look-- I knew her in high school, we were just… catching up.”

Mitch hums suggestively, and Connor laughs.

“Shut up, it’s nothing.” He says warmly. “It’s just, I had forgotten what it was like, to take someone on a date seriously, you know? Not that there’s anything wrong with what we’re doing, not that she was anything serious, but it’s just. It was nice.” _Oh._

The right thing to do would probably be to reevaluate their setup, considering Connor’s hinting at seeing other people, but that’s… well. Mitch doesn’t need this falling apart at the same time as everything else. His heart is beating a little too fast, and it feels a bit like a breakup, the familiar desperation of wanting it to last just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer, and Mitch will be fine.

“Are we still on, after the game?” Mitch can’t help but ask, changing the subject. It’s-- okay, maybe he’s purposely acting a little dense, given what Connor’s telling him, but. Sometimes it feels like it’s all they have left, after giving so much of their lives to other people. Sex is, at the very least, something holding them together, and Connor-- he doesn't often say no. 

Connor pauses, but it’s not for long. “Of course,” he says.

\--

Auston invites himself over a couple hours later with a dumb excuse and an even dumber movie. The whole clueless routine might work on some of their teammates, but Mitch knows Auston too well to be one of them.

You don’t get this far in life by ignoring things, Mitch knows. Auston may seem to all the world like a careless douche looking for an easy lay, but he’s not heartless and _definitely_ not stupid. And right now? He’s with Mitch instead of hooking up, except Mitch doesn’t see _why_ \--

“Just wanted to hang out,” Auston says nonchalantly. “Willy suggested it, thought you might want some company.”

And that’s when Mitch knows that Auston doesn’t believe him about Connor. Fuck. How must he seem, like he’s pining away hopelessly after someone who doesn’t think he’s worth monogamy? That’s what everyone sees, and it’s not even too far from the truth.

“What I _want_ is sleep,” Mitch says weakly, feeling even more like shit.

“We can watch it in your bed.” Auston suggests, and it’s not really a question, but Mitch nods anyway. They get situated on top of the covers and Auston pulls it up on the laptop-- and, yeah, it really is as stupid as Mitch predicted, nearly incomprehensible with the level of alertness Mitch is functioning at.

Auston hums, burrowing into Mitch’s side under the blanket. “You’re gonna miss the best part.”

“S’rry.” Mitch was lost ages ago, isn’t sure who’s who or what’s important. He blinks slowly, wondering if he can get away with just resting his eyes for a while. It doesn’t end up mattering-- he’s asleep within minutes.

\--

They’re stumbling against each other, making out like their lives depend on it, and it’s rough and wet and so, so good. “Aus,” Mitch gasps incoherently into Auston’s mouth, and the nickname makes Auston smile which makes Mitch smile too -- too wide to continue kissing, and Auston brushes his lips over the corner of Mitch’s grin before tucking his forehead into the warmth of Mitch’s neck. Like, literally just pressing his face there and humming contently. It’s so sweet that Mitch’s heart aches with it.

“I didn’t know you’d wanted this, too.” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, but Mitch catches it and can’t stop himself from gaping, a little.

“How could I not? You’re _you_.” Mitch says nonsensically, and Auston beams.

“The sexual tension _was_ getting kind of crazy.” He admits, tilting his head up to kiss Mitch again, sweet, and _God_ , Mitch really loves kissing, really loves kissing _Auston_ , because that’s apparently a thing now-- a thing that’s even better than he imagined.

And Mitch wants this to last forever, wants to continue to kiss Auston ‘til the sun burns out, but he feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin if something doesn’t happen soon, and the way Auston is grinding his hips down over Mitch’s thigh makes him so hot he can’t think.

“Can we--” Auston gasps, apparently on the same wavelength as Mitch.

“God, _yes--_ ”

Auston only slips out of his jacket while Mitch wiggles out of his shirt and jeans. Whoops. He’s ahead of the game, obviously overeager, but Auston doesn’t seem to think much of it, doesn’t tease-- he’s all too willing to stick his hand down Mitch’s boxers.

“Oh my god,” Mitch says faintly, because this is _really happening_ , and Auston smiles at him before giving him a particularly rough squeeze.

He was never going to last long in the first place, but Mitch knows he’s finished the moment Auston starts running his free hand up his chest. His skin ignites under Auston’s fingers, and it’s too much to handle -- he’s shuddering his release into Auston’s hand, Auston stroking him through it. He draws back, pulls away to take care of himself, and Mitch can’t stand the thought of not touching him.

“Wait, I can--” He breathes, falling unceremoniously to his knees. Auston looks completely gobsmacked, and Mitch snickers slightly as he helps him out of the rest of his clothes. It’s a little bit of wish fulfillment when Mitch mashes his face into Auston’s stomach, but it’s all a part of the plan, Mitch thinks, nuzzling lower until he can take Auston into his mouth. He glances up, meets Auston’s eyes-- he looks flushed and starstruck, and Mitch knows where to go from here, knows what people say about his mouth--

“God, your _mouth_ ,” Auston groans, and Mitch takes him in and hollows his cheeks.

There’s not much more than that.

The next morning, Auston comes into the kitchen and immediately winds his arms around Mitch’s waist, and they stand there, basking in each others company. It’s a while before either of them speak.

“ _God_ ,” Auston laughs quietly into his hair, happy and fond. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

And-- that’s not what happened.

That’s not what Auston said, that night, because if it was, Mitch wouldn’t have spent the last two months of his life aching whenever Auston came near, wouldn’t’ve started hooking up with Connor again.

If it was, Mitch wouldn't be reliving the morning after, wouldn’t be seeing the dream shift to Auston stretching across from him at the kitchen table, lazy and satisfied, wouldn’t be hearing the words “We should’ve hooked up sooner, would’ve made a move earlier if I’d known it’d be this good.” spill from his lips.

"...Oh." Mitch is in shock, he thinks. Maybe at a different time he'd be insulted, or offended at what Auston is trying to call what just happened, but it just feels like he’s been doused in ice water.

"Mitch?" Auston asks hesitantly, nervously, almost, and _oh, right._ Mitch can still vividly remember the night Auston came out to him, hands shaking-- knows he’s still afraid of being rejected for it, even though he knows it’s irrational. The fight leaks out of him. Auston is breaking Mitch, has him crumbling beneath his fingers, but he needs support. Needs to know that he's okay, even if he'd never ask for it. Mitch forces a smile.

"Yeah, ah. About that," Mitch starts, trying not to sound like his heart is being crushed. "It was fun and all, but, actually. I don't think we should do it again."

Auston pauses. Mitch can’t bring himself to look him in the face, lets a splash of milk fall from his spoon into the sticky mass of cereal. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, of course. Bad idea, I guess."

Mitch’s subconscious seems to recognize that he doesn’t need to relive the rest of it, doesn’t need to remind him of the awkwardness he’s living through.

It’s all too familiar.

\--

Mitch wakes gradually, notices a string of drool dripping onto the pillow, and wipes his mouth on the pillowcase. Something shifts, and oh, right. Auston’s awake-- his face is literally right there, he had a front row seat to that. Mitch glances over, mildly embarrassed, but Auston just blinks lazily back at him, unfazed by how gross it is, and suddenly Mitch’s heart is pounding and all he can think about is the dream.

He sits up, fist pressed against his mouth as he tries not to hyperventilate. It’s-- it’s terrifying. He wants this _forever_ , can’t imagine not having it. And it’s _too much_ , because right now he knows Auston cares, that he’s a priority, and that’s what he _wants_ , but it’s just not in the right _way_. Auston is willing to drop everything for Mitch, but it’ll never be the way he wants, and nothing lasts forever-- just look at Connor and Mitch and Dylan. It’ll eventually fade away, just like everything else, and Mitch doesn’t want to lose this, too. Doesn’t know if he can handle it.

He sucks in a breath and it comes out a sob. Auston sits up, making the bed shift, and grabs Mitch’s hand from his mouth, eyes searching his face. Mitch’s eyes fill with tears, and Auston breathes, “ _Mitch,_ ” and shifts, moving pillows around so Mitch can curl into his side, and he does, finally gripping his hands back tighter to anchor himself. If it hurts, Auston doesn’t show it, murmuring into his hair.

Once Mitch has gotten himself under control, he looks up at Auston, face feeling disgusting. Auston’s eyes are looking a little wet as well (sympathetic crier, of course), and Mitch chokes out a laugh.

“Really bad dream, sorry.”

Auston hums in sympathy, looking concerned. “You wanna talk about it?”

Mitch shakes his head. “I’d rather just try and forget.”

Auston lets it go, mostly-- he has Mitch promise to talk to someone if he thinks he needs it.

“Look, it doesn’t even have to be me, if you don’t trust-- I mean, if you don’t want it to be. Anyone on the team would be happy to help, I’m sure.”

And that’s true, probably. Mitch isn’t really sure they would be particularly sympathetic of his stubborn hesitancy to move on, isn’t too enthusiastic about exposing himself. These dreams are pretty much old hat, by now. It’s just how it is: Mitch wakes up, feels like shit, and copes-- with varying degrees of success.

“I will.” Mitch lies, and knows Auston doesn’t quite believe him.

\--

Auston doesn’t get much of a chance to worry about it. He collides with Mo during the game against Pittsburgh, and even from the bench Mitch can see something’s off. It’s not ‘til after the game that they learn it’s his head.

And-- Mitch is _pissed_. It’s not fucking fair. Auston’s _twenty_ , he’s the star, he’s supposed to be able to bounce back. The narrative is supposed to be about his triumph and victory, not dealing with rampant injury. Mitch can’t stop thinking about how Crosby lost an entire year with a concussion, can’t handle the thought of it happening to Auston.

Auston’s scared. Mitch doesn’t need to be a mindreader to see that, sees it in the way that he jumps at any opportunity for visitors in his dark apartment, even if they’re not supposed to do much more than talk.

“What if-- what if it doesn’t stop hurting?”

“It’s been two days, and it still-- and I still can’t handle the light in the refrigerator. What if this is it?”

Mitch is no stranger to dark fears creeping up in the silence, so he gets where Auston’s coming from. It’s affecting him, too-- he feels like he’s almost going crazy with it, the way they sit, just breathing, and it’s far too much time alone in his head. It’s a blatant reminder of just why he’s been so desperate for a distraction, anything. He hasn’t actually talked to Connor since Saturday, and their silence feels meaningful this time. Mitch is… kind of stressing about it, like, a _lot,_ which seems dumb in perspective, considering he’s also anxious about Auston (more than the usual amount).

On that subject, hanging out with Mitch is apparently Auston’s ideal coping method, which is something Mitch would normally be all over, overanalyzing, but there’s hardly any time before they have to play the Oilers, which is a something that is very notably without Auston.

Auston Matthews stops, the world continues on without him, and Mitch does his best while stuck in the middle. Mitch does his pregame ritual in the dark of his apartment, sharing Skittles with Auston. Auston's waves of nausea have mostly passed, thankfully, because an association with vomit is not something Mitch is looking to gain with the candy he depends on before every game.

“Close your eyes.” Mitch orders, so he can use his flashlight to quickly sort the them by color. To be honest, Mitch thinks it would probably be fine if he didn’t, but Auston’s been too nervous to check his light sensitivity again-- which, alright. Mitch can enable that, at least. As long as it gives him peace of mind.

“Okay, here’s some red ones.”

“Thanks-- you _liar_ , those were definitely green. Ick.” Auston spits.

“Hey, don’t spit them out, that’s my _luck_.” Mitch sputters, mostly joking. “If I don’t score a hatty, I’m blaming you.”

“I saved my screen time for the end of the game. We’ll see about that luck.” Auston says, cheeky, but the effect is very much lost by the fact that he’s following the trainer’s orders to the absolute letter. That’s how Mitch knows it was bad, this time-- how he knows Auston’s seriously messed up beyond irrational fears. He shouldn’t be left alone, and that’s not solely on Mitch, but. It kind of is. Kind of feels like it.

Mitch feels antsy, knows he should cancel his plans with Connor so he can get back to Auston, but the thought of going back to that stuffy apartment with the blinds shut and a pensive, scared Auston sounds pretty unappealing. If he’s going to stop whatever he’s doing with Connor, if he’s going to lose him, too, he wants to be able to see it off. He’ll be there for Auston, later, but just.

Not right now.

\--

“You’ll be okay, tonight?” Zach asks in the locker room before the game, and Mitch nods.

“Just-- got a lot on my mind. It’ll be better when it’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a heads up for the next chapter, coming later today (!!!): if you want the thing with Dylan or the context of Mitch’s relationship with Connor to make sense, that’s part 1 of this series. It holds up without it, but I’d definitely mark it as recommended reading to get full understanding of the next chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

They’re leaning against the headboard, and Connor’s trying his best at dirty talk that would fit the theme of ‘one night stand with a frat douche, but he’s like, really hot’ (Mitch’s brilliant idea).

They’ve been at it awhile-- it’s not really working, but neither of them is ready to admit it and give up. They are, if nothing else, stubborn. The game had been long and frustrating, and it shows in the way they’re both eager for a distraction.

“What else that mouth dooo?” Connor jokes, thumbing at Mitch’s lower lip, and Mitch kicks at him.

“ _Fine._ ” He sighs, dragging the snapback lower on his forehead, squinting his eyes and pouting slightly, admittedly painting a successful picture. Mitch can’t say he isn’t trying, but--

“You suck at turning me on, what the fuck,” He chirps, and it lands kind of wrong, but it’s funny watching Connor’s face get all huffy. “That’s not hot at all. You’re being too broody and quiet.”

“Like _you’re_ trying. I’ve never even hooked up with someone like this, have you?” Connor squabbles.

“Well, _no_ , but I know it’s not right.” Mitch honestly doesn’t know why he’s prodding at this, except that he’s stressed out by his game, by Auston’s injury, and trying not to think about it.

“It _could_ be--” Connor should be openly irritated now, Mitch knows. The game was pretty terrible for him, too, and the Oilers' morale is undoubtedly low at this point, with their losing skid-- Connor has every reason to be horrible and moody, but he’s hiding it, just like he _always_ does. He never shows his weaknesses to Mitch, doesn’t let even his _friends_ see even a remotely bad side of him.

Mitch is kind of sick of it.

“Well then it’s not working for _me_ , and almost everything _does_ , like, it’s so easy to--”

Connor exhales in a rush, annoyance spiking. “I can’t believe you. You can just, I don’t know, imagine I’m Auston.”

Mitch feels like he’s been submerged in ice. “No, no. Stop. _Stop_.” and Connor freezes, in the middle of pressing in for another kiss. Mitch feels like he’s going to be sick.

“That’s, that’s not what I want from this, from you--” He stammers, taken aback, and Connor immediately backpedals.

“I’m sorry--”

“You’re not a replacement for him, I’m-- I’m not _using_ you--” Mitch says, and simultaneously realizes that’s not the complete truth.

Connor falls tellingly silent.

_Oh, God._

Everything feels like it’s moving way too fast, like it’s a dream he should be able to wake up from, but it’s not happening, not slowing down or going away. Mitch’s mind is running a mile a minute, and he’s trying to think of anything he can say, anything at all, but he can’t stop reevaluating everything they’ve done together this year.

The phone calls, the meeting up, the _hooking up_ \-- would they still be close, would they still be friends _at all_ if Mitch hadn’t made a mess of his relationship with Auston? Does Connor think he’s just a placeholder, that Mitch is using him? He brought up stopping, and Mitch didn’t even listen to him-- God, Mitch must seem like a fucking monster.

“I like _you_. I like having sex with _you_.” Mitch says helplessly, mind reeling, because those are two things he _knows_ are true, things he needs Connor to know.

Connor sighs. “I know, Marns.” He sits back on his haunches, looking pitying but overall unsurprised, and Mitch attempts to feel less horrified that his best friend is barely reacting to his inability to truthfully say that he’s not using him for sex.

Oh, God. He really needs to get out of here.

\--

“Mitch,” Connor seethes, “Get _out_ of the bathroom.” He sounds like he’s gritting his teeth-- worked up to a point that he hardly ever gets, and Mitch’s stomach twists in guilt. This is all his fault, he needs to. He needs to do _something_ , doesn’t know what he _can_ do, but looking Connor in the face after all this isn’t something he’s sure he can handle right now.

There’s a thud on the other side of the door when he doesn’t respond, and Mitch jumps slightly.

“You can’t just lock yourself away, we need to _talk about this_.” He sounds ridiculously frustrated and Mitch blinks rapidly. “I’m not mad, I swear.” Connor’s voice is doing something weird and Mitch finds it hard to believe. He knows _he_ was mad when Auston misunderstood his intentions, knows for a fact that it’s the worst feeling in the world -- feeling rejected and _used_. And he was using Connor, didn’t even realize-- and Connor just let it happen, just like Mitch did with Dylan, so really, if things are following past rules, _Mitch_ should be the angry one here, but instead he’s just on the edge of breaking from the guilt.

Mitch eyes the window, sizing up how easily it would be to just _escape_ , but after a few moments he realizes it’s hopeless. And, besides-- it’s probably about time for Mitch to start listening to what Connor wants. He owes him that much.

“I’m sorry.” Mitch says, miserable. “I didn’t realize I was being such an asshole.”

“That’s not, it’s not your fault.” ( _It is_.)

“I didn’t mean to make you feel used. I wish you didn’t have to feel this way.” Mitch recites, the things Connor always said when they’d talk about Dylan, or Auston, or any other way Mitch’d fucked up.

“Mitch,” Connor sounds like he’s squinting, voice strained. “This isn’t like with Dylan, you know that right? I’m not going to drop you--” It sounds like he tries the door again, but it doesn’t budge.

“Mitch, you can’t fucking think that, you can’t keep treating things like this, like you just need to jump ship, it’s not-- you need to understand, if you’d just _open the_ _door_ \--”

Mitch doesn’t know if he _can_ , feels heavy where he’s sitting on the floor. His eyes feel heavy, too, almost raw, even though he hasn’t actually cried. (Of course, there’s still time for that.)

\--

“ _Fine_.” Connor groans, frustrated, and Mitch can hear his stupid phone’s keypad noises through the door. “Maybe I’ll get someone you _actually_ listen to.”

And, whoa. _Wait._ That would be _\--_  no, he can’t, not when Mitch had carefully talked his way around his plans after the game, _especially_ not when Auston’s hiding concussion symptoms from the rest of the league. That’s something Connor definitely can’t find out about. _Goddamn it._

It’s pretty easy to find strength, after that, and Mitch opens the door in a hurry, stumbling into Connor. “Wait, don’t call him, what the fuck, you can’t just--”

“Shit, shit, since when have you not been completely stubborn? It’s already ringing, what am I supposed to say?”

“He’s not gonna pick up--”

The ringing stops, and there’s rustling on the other end. “H’llo?”

Auston sounds pretty miserable, and Mitch takes a moment to regret leaving his side to hang out with Connor. Connor flounders for a few seconds, gesturing at Mitch, who just shrugs helplessly. There’s no good excuse for this, Mitch can’t imagine why he’d call in the first place.

“Just say whatever you were going to say.” Mitch hisses with some heat behind it, and Connor makes a face but starts talking.

“Auston? It’s Connor McDavid. I was wondering if you knew where Mitch keeps a spare key?” Connor’s got his interviewing voice on, the one where he wants something and goes all sweet and syrupy. It works depressingly well, Mitch thinks. He’s got practically all of his teammates wrapped around his finger. As plans go, Connor’s wasn’t terrible -- even though it ended up being unnecessary, getting Mitch’s master key would’ve certainly gotten him out of the bathroom.

“Why.” Mitch knows Auston’s tired, but doesn’t think he’s imagining the additional flatness of his voice. Mitch can picture the way his brows are probably furrowing, face scrunched up in the dim lights of his apartment, and his heart aches a little bit.

“He’s not answering his phone, or his door.” Connor explains, and they wait as Auston says nothing in response. There’s no sound in the background, so at least Auston’s following orders, but it means there’s nothing to distract from the soft breathing on the other end-- heavy, like he just woke up.

“I’m worried about him.” Connor adds, prompting, seemingly not bothered by or not noticing Auston’s tone and extended silence, even though he squints at Mitch as the silence drags on. Which -- yeah, it’s kind of awkward, and Mitch prays it’s not because Auston’s dealing with another headache or something.

“...He’s not talking to _you_.” Auston says slowly, like some kind of realization is dawning on him, and his voice is tense, unfriendly. Almost accusatory. “I’m not, I’m not getting in between whatever this is. And no, I don’t know where his keys are.” He snaps, and his voice cuts out.

There’s a dial tone. He must’ve hung up. _Holy shit._ Mitch slumps into Connor’s arms, feeling tired. Also kind of watery. It’s definitely a crying kind of night.

“He does know. He has one.” Mitch mumbles into Connor’s shirt.

Connor sighs into his hair, warm and damp. “He’s making it hard to hate him. You picked a loyal one.”

“Yeah,” Mitch gives a half hearted laugh, smile wobbly. “It’s _really_ hard.”

His phone lights up in his hand, and he pulls back. _Call from Auston._

He accepts the call, sniffling slightly. “Hey--”

“Mitch? Are you alright?” Auston sounds a hundred times more alert and worried than he did on the phone with Connor. Really, actually concerned. It’s more than Mitch deserves.

“I’m fine. You shouldn’t be on your phone.” Mitch chastises halfheartedly, not managing to stop himself from sounding teary.

“I’m not supposed to drive but I can be there in ten minutes, if you need someone to kick him out--” He’s talking fast, the way he gets when his mouth can barely keep up with his brain, and it’s all because Mitch never got his shit together.

“I’m not in love with him, Aus.” Mitch interrupts, softly, and for the first time he thinks Auston believes him. He inhales, and it’s audibly shaky. “I thought I knew what I wanted but I just, I treat everyone I know like shit, I just--”

“ _Mitch_ ,” Auston says, anguished, and Mitch bites his lip to cut himself off.

“I’m really sorry.” Mitch whispers, and he’s really apologizing to everyone -- to Connor for making him deal with his stubborn issues, to Auston for blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault and making him deal with this. To-- to Dylan, for fucking it up and not managing to learn from it, and to himself, for choosing to play the passive victim instead of growing the fuck up.

“Come over?” Auston asks-- pleads, really. To be frank, even asking is unnecessary. Mitch should’ve gone over in the first place, after the game. Trying to keep up with Connor, forcing it, was just a bad idea. It started being a bad idea when it got to be for more than just fun, when Mitch needed a distraction and found Connor willing.

“Yeah,” There’s a lump in Mitch’s throat, and he has to swallow around it before he can speak. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

Connor looks at him as he hangs up, and Mitch makes himself meet his gaze even through the wave of shame. Connor should be storming out, completely through with Mitch, and in a way that would be easier-- he wouldn’t have to deal with it, not really.

It’s so, so awful to feel uncertain around him, like he hasn’t known him for years, and it’s made worse by the fact that _even now_ Connor’s still willing to be around Mitch. Mitch isn’t sure he’d be that kind, if their roles were reversed.

“This isn’t what you want.” Mitch says, to prove he’s not a total idiot. “You wanted to stop, but I didn’t listen.”

Connor sighs. “I always want to be here for you, Marns, but I just… it was immature, starting this. I think I knew that from the beginning, and you didn’t realize. Or didn’t care.”

It feels a like a slap in the face. It doesn’t make it any less true.

Mitch nods, swallows heavily. “I’m sorry.” It’s quiet, awkward. He knows he needs to keep speaking, making things better, but reconciling the way he looks at himself is beyond uncomfortable. “God, I’ve been such a dick.”

Connor’s lips curve into a sad smile, and he reaches out to ruffle Mitch’s hair. “Yeah. Yeah, you really have.”

Unsurprisingly, that doesn’t make Mitch feel much better, but Connor’s touch still does, even after everything.

“You’ll let me fix it, right? Still friends?” Mitch asks, hesitant, and Connor scoffs.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together to stay friends. I still care about you, you know?”

That’s… kind of exactly what Mitch needed to hear, and it’s like a huge weight off his chest-- like the start of something new, something better.

“Like you could get rid of me.” Mitch adds, because he’s a little bit allergic to feelings. Connor rolls his eyes, pauses.

“You know you’re still going to need to talk to him, right?” He asks, and _oh, right_. Mitch can feel himself dreading anymore confrontation, anymore apologizing, but doesn’t give himself a long enough chance to back out-- pulls his car keys out and starts shuffling towards the door.

“Right! Right. You can show yourself out, feel free to whatever’s in the fridge-- Could you lock up, too? You know where the key is, right?” The look Connor gives him is utterly unamused, and Mitch blinks innocently back. “Under the silverware?-- oh, you didn’t know? Huh, how about that.”

Connor slamming the door behind him is enough to have him feeling significantly lighter on the walk to his car. The nerves come back once he’s actually sitting behind the wheel, but Mitch gathers himself, solemn and determined. He has some stuff to own up to.


End file.
